The slums were a mess again today. Countless refugees crowded together, worrying over how to scrape by. In this stinking place, with garbage strewn everywhere, no one had time to think about tomorrow. They only thought about how to make it through today. Maybe that was just how people were: take it one day at a time. As long as you were alive, that was enough.

“Grab her!”

“You bastard! You stole my food again!”

A little white-haired girl ran past, stuffing the potatoes and black bread she’d stolen into her mouth as she went. Adults were chasing after her. She had a pair of rose-red eyes, and she was quite cute—but she was mute.

Her daily routine here was to steal, get caught, take a beating, and let the day pass.

She had to do this to survive, to keep from starving to death.

She hadn’t run far when her foot ailment flared up. She went tumbling to the ground, but even after she fell, she kept stuffing food into her mouth. To be honest, the food wasn’t good. It was dry and shriveled, and already close to spoiling. But she couldn’t care less. She was starving to death—why would she care how it tasted? The adults caught up with her and beat and kicked her as hard as they could.

“Spit it out! You little brat, spit it out!”

“She’s eaten it all!”

“Damn! You filthy little tramp! I knew it—you’re nothing but a motherless, fatherless little bastard, always thinking about stealing!”

As usual, she took a beating. She curled up with her arms over her head, trying to keep herself from getting hurt too badly. She didn’t care what anyone said about her. She had to live. She didn’t want to starve to death.

Several more wounds marked the white-haired girl’s body. Her frail frame looked as if it might collapse at any moment, but all she could do was stubbornly keep on living. No matter what, she had to stay alive.

Who would have guessed that this frail girl living in the slums, stealing food every day, had once been a princess of the Empire?